“Elliot? Elliot, can you hear me?” Anthony’s voice sounded far away. “Hold on baby boy. I’m coming.”
Blinding bright lights appeared in the distance. They approached slowly like they were afraid they’d startle me. The truck pulled up beside me and rolled the window down.
“Elliot?”
My stomach dropped at the sound of his voice so close to me. I didn’t answer. Just stood up and started walking away.
Anthony opened the door, jumping out of his truck. “Elliot, wait?—”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. The need to run burned through me like wildfire. So I ran. His heavy footsteps followed. He caught my wrist and yanked.
Instead of falling to the ground, I turned and crashed into him. All the restraint I hadn’t known I was holding onto snapped at once. My hands fisted his henley. His golden-caramel skin pressed against me through the thin fabric, steady and warm, anchoring me when everything else was chaos. My forehead found his before my brain could stop it.
It was desperate. Brief. Not a kiss so much as a collision. Warm lips met mine. Coarse beard scraped against my raw skin. For a single second the world stopped spinning out of my control. I felt safe. Wanted. Needed.
He kissed me back with just as much fever. When his tongue pushed past my lips and wrapped around mine I melted. Large, rough hands cupped my face like I was something precious.
It was perfect until it wasn’t.
Anthony froze. Then gently pulled back. A whimper slipped past my swollen lips as they chased him.
“No,” he said softly, thumbs brushing under my eyes. “Elliot. I won’t take advantage of you.”
The words felt like a cold, hard slap.
“They wanted me like that,” I said, too loud, too sharp. “Why don’t you?”
“That’s not?—”
“Why am I not enough for you?” My voice broke. I felt the first tear as it dripped down my cheek.
He didn’t answer right away. That was worse. He just swept my feet out from under me and carried me bridal style back tohis truck. My fists beat against his shoulder as he shushed me and kissed my temple.
I didn’t want our first kiss to end. I didn’t want the night to end. The intoxicating feeling. Him chasing me. His taste on my lips. My tongue. My eyes fluttered shut as he gently set me on my feet and opened the passenger door.
“Get in, Elliot.” His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t angry. It was pained.
“Fine,” I ground out and slid into the seat and curled toward the window, forehead resting against the glass. His door shut with a heavy, final sound. The engine turned over and we drove.
Silence filled the cab like a fog. I picked at my sleeves. “You could have let me,” I muttered.
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Let you what?”
“Kiss you for longer.”
“That’s not what that was.”
I huffed a weak, humourless laugh. “Your tongue was in my mouth.” I shook my head. “Everything feels like something right now.”
“That’s the problem,” he said quietly.
I turned toward him. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
“I’m not trying to,” he grumbled. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“From what?” I snapped. “You?”
Anthony flinched. That shut me down quickly. The rest of the drive passed in fragments—headlights streaking, the hum of the tires, the ache in my chest swelling and receding like a tide.
